Thoughts of Darkness Past
by ElvenPirate41
Summary: Pippin and Merry pay Éowyn and Faramir a visit, telling them of what happened upon their return to the Shire. This makes Faramir wonder exactly who the man they called Wormtongue is, and what connection he had to Éowyn...


"Thoughts of Darkness Past" 

Work: the Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Angst, Romance, General  
Rating: PG to a light PG-13  
Characters: Merry, Pippin, Éowyn, Faramir, Gríma  
Warning: Based on events in the BOOK "The Return of the King." For those who have not read it, there are **spoilers!!!** Additionally, this has just been edited very slightly, since I was reading it over and realized that a couple of little eensy changes could be made to improve it.

ElvenPirate41 stepped onto the stage and bowed. "Well, Gríma," she said, "I hope you're happy, because you've managed to play a major role in a story you're not even in. You're dead, in fact."  
Gríma stopped reading the latest issue of "Shieldmaidens Gone Wild" to look up in confusion. "What? I'm dead? Since when?"  
"Since Tolkien wrote it, silly, and Peter Jackson didn't have the good sense to put it in the movie. Not the theatrical version, anyway."  
"Oh. That sucks," he said, returning to his magazine.  
"Yeah," EP41 said. "And I don't own stuff! Incriminating pictures of two guy friends in corsets, yes, but none of this stuff!"

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It was upon a bright morning that Meriadoc and Peregrin reached Emyn Arnen, and it was with no small amount of recognition that they were received. The people who had recently repopulated the hills remembered well the small heroes of the War of the Ring, and called out words of praise and welcome to them as they rode their ponies through the roads.

Pippin recalled a less pleasant occasion on which he had ridden through the lands of Men, but now there was no reason for haste, no need to feel any fear or worry about any foolish thing he had recently done. Now they were great victors of battle, well appreciated by all who had heard of their deeds.

He looked over at Merry, and saw that his cousin was enjoying the smiles of the young Gondorian ladies. "I hope you realize," he said, leaning in towards Merry, "that it's me they're all looking at."

Merry made a rather derisive sound in his throat. "Clearly you're mistaken, Pip; they're all looking at me." Suddenly he pointed. "See! That lass! She just winked at me!"

"My, my, Merry," Pippin chastised. "What would Estella say?"

"Speak for yourself, dear cousin," Merry returned. "We wouldn't want pretty Diamond learning that you've been looking at other lasses, now, would we?"

"Oh, please. Diamond hardly looks at me anymore, not since I sort of snatched the bouquet from her at Sam's wedding," said Pippin without a trace of remorse.

"You're daft," said Merry. "She's sneaking looks at you all the time. I suppose she thinks she'd fancy herself a bit of Gondorian soldier."

Pippin chuckled and rolled his eyes. "If you say so." He paused and seemed to consider this. "Not that I'd exactly mind aiding her in achieving that goal."

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"Westu hál," Éowyn greeted the two as they rode up, looking deservedly smug atop their large (for Hobbits, at least) ponies.

"You look well, my friends," said Faramir warmly, happy to see the periannath he had come to hold dear.

Pippin brushed off their cordial greetings as he and his cousin dismounted. "I'm starved, is there anything to eat in the middle of these woods? Wouldn't happen to have a nice, friendly pub here?"

Faramir smiled at Pippin's priorities. "Supper will be served soon, if you can wait long enough, master perian."

Pippin had opened his mouth again and was about to respond when Merry jabbed him in the side. "What he wants to say is that you two are looking well yourselves."

"Oh, yes," Pippin said, pushing Merry's arm away and rubbing the spot he had hit. "I'll bet it's the prospect of parenthood which makes you smile."

"Yes, when are Gondor's happiest newlyweds expecting?" Merry said, gesturing at Éowyn's middle.

She smiled and touched the swell of her belly. "The doctors say about a fortnight," said Faramir, and Merry thought the man fairly glowed with pride.

"I have told Faramir that he must not fret when the time comes." The mother-to-be grinned mischievously. "We will see how that turns out."

"I suppose my fearless princess will always be braver than I," Faramir said, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Jest not," Pippin said with fake solemnity. "Our mothers have delivered many children, and they say that the difficulty is not in the birthing, but in keeping the husbands from going mad with worry and anticipation."

Faramir suddenly looked very nervous indeed, but after a few moments of enjoying her husband's flustered state, Éowyn cracked a smile. The hobbits broke out in a massive case of the giggles at causing the usually calm man such distress; and soon they were all laughing merrily, the tension broken.

"Hope you for a young lad or lass?" Pippin asked.

"A boy," Éowyn answered immediately, at the same time that Faramir said, "A girl." Merry and Pippin looked rather confused.

"Faramir wants a little maid to dote upon," Éowyn clarified, "and I wish for a boy that I may teach him to ride and wield a sword. But I think he opposes me mostly because he knows it irks me."

"Ah, you have found me out," Faramir said playfully, and he quickly kissed her lips.

"Well, whether boy or girl, may the child bring you much happiness," said Merry. The couple nodded their thanks. Then Merry's tone became grave. "Pardon me for breaking the mood, but we also bring news of a more serious nature."

Faces grew solemn. "Go on," said Faramir.

"Well, when we returned to the Shire, we found strangers there we deemed unwelcome," Pippin began.

"Saruman and his henchmen, to be precise. And one called Wormtongue," Merry continued.

A sudden shadow that Faramir could not place flickered over his wife's face, but in an instant she was the very image of calm.

"I am sorry that such foul people disgraced your fair land with their very presence," Éowyn said with a not entirely masked bitterness.

"Aye, and they did more disgracing besides," Merry said darkly.

Faramir frowned. He had since meeting with Frodo and Sam the previous March felt that the Shire was certainly a beautiful place, and spending time with any of the periannath only served to further this opinion.

"You can imagine what a surprise it was for us all to go back and find things so changed," said Pippin as he began to elaborate. "There were mills, and houses of stone, and all the trees cut down—"

"And Men everywhere you looked, and sheets and sheets of Rules, and gatekeepers—"

"And rations on food and drink, and no pipeweed!" Pippin waved his arms in indignation. "All of which are quite unheard of in the Shire."

"I do hope that you ousted those dreadful people," Éowyn cried.

"'Course we did," Merry said, drawing himself up to his substantial height. "And you should have seen the faces of those Men when we finally roused everyone to fight." Pippin nodded fervently. "Us in our mail, and Frodo so grim after all he'd been through – they fairly ran off into the forest."

"And then we discovered that Saruman was behind all the changes. We were going to kill him, but then Frodo showed him mercy. It made the old coot wonder so that he decided to up and leave," said Pippin.

"Yes, but when a noble heart will not do a deed best completed, a more base one may step in," said Merry gravely.

"Why, Merry, you sound just as wise as the Gaffer," Pippin remarked, drawing small smiles from the solemn couple.

"Wormtongue hated Saruman for his maltreatment, and he sprung upon the wizard and cut his throat before us all."

Éowyn's breath caught in her throat, and Faramir wondered who this ill-named murderer could be. "He killed Saruman?" she said, sounding thoroughly shocked.

"Yes, m'lady," said Merry, his face stony. "And then he ran – but three of our archers slew him ere he was ten paces past Bag End."

"So his is dead, then," Éowyn said faintly, and to Faramir it seemed that she looked into a darker time and place rather than at the faces of her husband and friends under the bright sun in Ithilien. He wondered what grieved her, and he vowed to know, but he did not yet press the matter.

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They feasted that night, and celebrated the hobbits' visit with song and dance; indeed, Merry and Pippin led these festivities in a less-than- sober manner. But when even they grew tired and made their way up to their rooms, Faramir's thoughts turned again to Éowyn's strange behavior.

He knew that she had endured many hardships in Edoras before they met, and that she had fallen into such despair that she decided to end her life in battle. He knew that she did this because she could not stand to be left behind while all the men went to war; he loved her for this fighting spirit she possessed. He did not know, however, as much as he would have liked about her life in Rohan as a lady of the court. The few times that he had tried to coax any information out of her, she had responded to his questions with answers so short they barely made full sentences. He would detect a hint of pain in her eyes and he would stop asking, for the last thing he wanted to do was upset the woman he loved.

Now, though, was the time to obtain the answers that Éowyn had skirted around for so long. Faramir was a learned man, and when he wanted to know something, he would persist in his studies until he found a satisfactory explanation. He would find a way to discover what secrets she kept.

He entered the room they shared. She was sitting on the bed with her legs tucked to one side, absentmindedly twisting a lock of hair around her finger. It was not until the door closed loudly behind him that she looked up at him, as though awoken from a dream.

She smiled at him, making him fall in love with her all over again as had happened every day since their meeting. "What took you so long?" she inquired.

"When the Halflings cannot walk straight it takes a bit longer than expected to get them to their rooms," he returned, sitting down behind her. She grinned in understanding and settled back against his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, and she made a noise of exasperation.

"Please, Faramir, you ask me that every hour on the hour. Who needs the bells of Minas Tirith with you around?" she jested. "I am with child, not on my deathbed. And by the way, I'm fine."

"Can a husband help but worry?" he said. "And I didn't mean just in that way. You seemed... upset before by what news Merry and Pippin brought."

"Were you not?" said Éowyn, somewhat evasively, he thought. "Their tidings were grave."

"To be sure," he responded, rubbing her shoulders in a light massage. "But you seemed particularly affected by the mention of the one who slew Saruman; what was his name again? Serpent-tooth, Snakemouth..."

She gave him an indignant look and swatted playfully at one of his hands. "You recall perfectly well what his name was, Faramir."

He grinned at her. "Oh yes, Wormtongue, wasn't it? His mother must have hated him something terrible."

"Well, it wasn't his right name, of course!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Honestly, you ask me what is the matter, say that it must be something serious, and then you do nothing but jest!"

"Forgive me, my love," he said, lightly kissing her neck.

She shivered at the pleasant tickle of his beard. "Only because you ask so nicely."

"But in all seriousness," Faramir said, turning her face up to his, "I would have there be no secrets between us. Who was he?"

Her eyes locked on his and then drifted off to memory as they had before. They sat in silence for a few moments as he waited for her to speak. "He was a man," she said finally. "Or a semblance of a man, anyway. The councilor to my uncle, no less, and every bit deserving of the name they gave him, though his right name was Gríma." It felt strange, finally speaking his name after so many years of thinking of him as Wormtongue or Snake.

"An evil man?" he prompted gently.

"Malevolent," Éowyn responded, "and cruel, most certainly. But whether he was evil I cannot say. But I can say that I loathed the creature, and saw a villain in him when Théoden could not." She paused in remembrance, and Faramir hoped that the strain of dark memory would not be too great for her. "You see, he and Saruman wove a spell about my uncle which incapacitated him. Wormtongue as good as ruled Rohan in those days. He imprisoned my brother and did nothing to stop the bands of orcs that roamed unchecked through the Mark.

Faramir nodded as her eyes returned to him, hoping she would go on. This was good; she was finally opening up to him.

"He was brilliant," she continued. "I suppose that was his attempt to compensate for his foul looks and nature. Disgusting, but quite intelligent. He knew history, lore, arithmetic, language, writing; he was originally a scribe for the king. And he had no small power with his words – probably why Saruman chose him as his agent. It was ill that he came to serve the wizard and put his skills to dark use."

Éowyn forced herself to recall from the dark recesses of her mind memories that were better left buried.

"He had an obsession with me," she said, and this caught Faramir's attention. He had been watching and listening with sympathy, but now he was more alert. Now he looked as if he would break Wormtongue's neck if ever he chanced upon him.

"He would watch me from the shadows, follow me around Meduseld, taunt me when no one else was near. His hands were cold... he would try to touch me..." She trailed off, tears springing to her eyes.

Faramir suddenly grew very stern. "Touch you?" he said angrily. "What did he do? He never—"

"No, dearest. He never did that; I do not think he possessed the audacity. Never more than a touch to the hand or face."

"I trust you put the miserable rat in his place."

"Yes," she answered, curling against her husband as more painful thoughts resurfaced. "Though once or twice I thought it might be easier just to give in." She let out a small sob, and he embraced her as I he could protect her from the specter of her recollection through the simple action.

"Shh," he said softly. "There is no need for tears now. He is dead. He cannot hurt you any longer." It infuriated him to think that anyone would cause his dear Éowyn grief. "You need never think of him anymore, and we need never speak of him again."

When he blew out the candles in their room and joined his sleeping wife in bed, he was still thinking about what they had discussed. He wondered about the man called Wormtongue, and what he had been like. 'Whether he was evil I cannot say,' Éowyn had told him. He supposed he would never truly know, and it was best that the subject be dropped entirely, and that they look to the future rather than a dark past. He placed his arms around Éowyn, and in her sleep she shifted closer towards him. Faramir knew that no matter how strong she was, he would hold and protect her always that no shadow would haunt her thoughts or dreams.

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